And Then Her
by Ellenly
Summary: Oswald is all too familiar with being shoved around and bullied. The bitterness that follows him throughout his life quickly causes a deep fascination for power and respect. It's not surprising he isn't very used to genuine kindness and that might be the exact reason why he's so baffled when he meets Amelia. / Takes place right after E1S1.
1. A vase and an encounter

A/N: Hey folks! I've been a fan of Gotham for quite a while now and my favorite piece of trash is, of course, our dear Ozzy boy. So here is my attempt to write an Oswald/OC thingy. I rated this story M for possible nsfw content in later chapters. I think that's all I wanted to say for now. I would love to read what you think about it! Here we go :)

* * *

If there was one thing Oswald hated it was clearly being out of control. Mostly because being out of control came with the feeling of having no power. Having no power drove him wild. It drove him to the point where he would clench his fists so hard that his knuckles turned white. It would completely set him on fire. In a terrible, brutal and very unforgiving way. He might have been small but the storm that was raging inside of him was bigger than his body. He needed revenge. He needed power. He needed it all and he knew how to play a good game. He would be at the top and they would all be crawling by his feet, begging and begging. Oh, how he looked forward to being the king of Gotham.

However, in this moment Oswald did not feel like a king. In fact, he felt like a homeless person, in need of a shower, food and a bed. He was limping down this dull road that had led right out of his beloved city and now he saw nothing but big, grey-green fields by his sides. He was sick of walking and he desperately wanted to rest or at least take a short break. He was thankful for what Jim Gordon had done for him, that he let him live. It was quite a turn of events, actually. Yet, here he was, limping because Fish had taken out her fury on him, his clothes utterly wet from his fall into the river.

He wanted to scream from the top of his lungs. Scream at Fish for damaging his leg. Scream at himself for letting it get this far. No... It wasn't his fault. He'd done nothing wrong and soon he would be back. He just needed to make a plan and prepare everything for his return. Giving up or failing was out of question. He had a destination. HIS destination. He would be better. Stronger.

Oswald was roughly pulled out of his thoughts when he saw a house to his left. It practically stood in the middle of nowhere. There was a small blue car parked in front of it. The house wasn't particularly big but he still guessed that more than one person lived in there. He was hungry and tired. He didn't even need to think this through. He simply began to make his way to the house, ready to strangle the person that would open the door once he knocked. As soon as he reached it he looked around for a moment and made sure that he was alone. The things that caught his attention the most were all the flowers, sweetly planted on the ground all around the house. He frowned and blinked, his careless glare fixing the door again.

He raised his pale hand and knocked against it four times.

Two quiet minutes that were filled with nothing but the sound of birds chirping around him went by.

Right.

Oswald knocked again, harder this time. When nothing happened he grew impatient. He threw his side against the wood of the door, focussing all his strength on the goal to break it open—which turned out to be the beginning of a very strange and confusing series of events. Something that he hadn't noticed before he made the decision to stand in front of the door was the vase that hung over his head. It was filled with small flowers and dirt. It was clearly supposed to be a piece of decoration but it completely dismissed its original use when Oswald's knuckles met the door in a harsh way, causing the vase to fall down and break into pieces as it met his head. _Who_ would hang a vase over a door? How incredibly _stupid_ could the person who lived here be? That was the only question that popped up in his head before he fell to the floor and lost his consciousness.

"Hello? Hello? I am so sorry, sir... Can you hear me?"

Yes, he could but he didn't really want to. His head hurt so much that he thought it would explode out of pure pain. The concerned voice definitely belonged to a woman. Oswald let out a loud groan as he slowly tried to sit up. He finally let his eyes flutter open and placed his elbows on the ground underneath him. A strand of hair fell over his eyes and his mouth hung open. The headache he felt made him grunt and he furrowed his brows.

There was a girl—or a young woman—that was hovering over him. She stared at him with big eyes and she looked as if he was the most scandalous thing she had ever seen. Her hair was brown. It had a warm, dark shade. Oswald's gaze travelled down as he still tried to fully get back to his senses. His glare stopped at her neckline. She was so close. Too close.

Oswald managed to shift away from her and he coughed before he cleared his throat and tried to stand up. His strength failed him. His leg hurt like never before and his head felt like a bowling ball that he had to carry on his shoulders. The second he was on his feet he had to sit down again since the pain became almost unbearable. He spat out another noise of utter pain.

The woman gasped and was at his side in no time. She placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a very soft squeeze. "I'm incredibly sorry, sir. That vase belonged to the people who lived here before me. I should have put it away by now." she said and there was nothing but honesty in her tone. Oswald looked at her once more and narrowed his eyes in annoyance. "Well, you _should have_!" he hissed as he thought about taking a shard of the vase to stab her with it.

The thing was that he was still much too concentrated on his physical pain and he hissed through his teeth, tightly holding on to his leg. "Again, I'm so sorry." she said, pity floating through her voice. Oswald hated pity.

"Sir, do you need help?"

Sir. She kept calling him that. An odd feeling of pride washed through him and he finally turned to look at her once more. She had soft features, green eyes... Or blue? Did she live here on her own? Was it safe for him to kill her? Was someone inside that could be a danger to him?

"Yes, Miss. Actually I do need help." He smiled at her for the first time. It was a big, false smile. "I got robbed. My car, my phone... It's all gone." Oswald was a fantastic actor and he knew exactly how to wrap people around his finger. Especially people like her. He already detected a rather high level of innocence here. The girl looked shocked and full of empathy.

"Oh, crap. I'm so sorry. Do you want me to call the police, Mr..." "Anderson." he lied smoothly, finishing her sentence before he quickly shook his head in answer to her question. "And no, no. I will do that later. However, I would very much appreciate it if I could come in for a few minutes to have a glass of water and perhaps clean myself up a little since I've been walking around like this for hours." He needed to make sure if she lived on her own, if it was safe for him to get rid of her and use her house as a resting place. She probably had food in there, too.

The woman quickly nodded. "Yes. Yes, of course." She was still kneeling beside him and it made him feel like a child that had just fallen down out of stupidity.

"Do you want me to help you up?" she asked as she stood up and offered him her hand. Oswald thought about grabbing it and pulling her down to strangle her there and then so he could just take over her house. He thought better of it, though. Patience. He needed to make sure that there weren't other people inside. A family or a husband who might attack him with a gun.

"Thank you, Miss." Oswald smiled up at her and took her delicate, small hand in his bigger one as his long fingers met the soft skin of her palm.

"Please, call me Amelia."


	2. A comfortable waste of time

A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy the second chapter. Please let me know if you liked it. Also! This story **might** contain explicit scenes in later chapters (that's the main reason behind the M rating) but I don't want anyone to think that this is _just_ going to be that. My goal is to make this an entertaining story that includes drama, angst, excitement, romance, etc. And now, have fun with Oswald being an awkward birb.

* * *

The thing with Amelia was that she was too kind. Not only did she help a complete stranger and let him come into her house but she actually let him stay. Never, not once in Oswald's entire life had he met a person as naive as this woman. It had been two days—two days!—and she still let him sleep on the couch in her living room. Oswald had been right with the assumption that she lived alone.

Something about the girl was so innocent that he almost felt disgusted. Disgusted because he didn't feel like killing her which was probably a result from the shockingly comforting feeling of having someone around who actually wanted to help him without needing anything in return.

She didn't even want money for letting him live here and that in itself was weird because _everyone_ always wanted money. Besides, she still believed he got robbed. Well, he had saved a good amount of cash for him and his mother in Gotham but it was pretty much out of reach at the moment. He needed to make a plan before he could return.

At first she had offered him to drive him back to Gotham, assuming that he had a flat there—which he had, with his mother—but Oswald quickly came up with another story. Apparently telling her that not only his car had been taken from him but that his entire flat had been robbed a few days ago was enough to make her think it was acceptable to let him live at her place for a while... Since he supposedly didn't have a home anymore. What a bunch of ridiculous lies. And she blindly believed him! Something that made the whole thing sound like it could be the truth was probably the fact that the crime rate in Gotham was ridiculously high. Still, Oswald couldn't tell whether she was nice or just extremely stupid.

Either way, she cooked for him and let him use her bathroom. That was more than he could ask for.

"I'm back."

Amelia's voice threw Oswald out of his thoughts. He sat up on the couch and blinked. He should really continue trying to come up with a good way to return to Gotham. He couldn't allow himself to have this little... vacation. He hardly wanted one. It was a waste of time.

A comfortable waste of time.

"I bought you clothes." she proudly announced and set two, white shopping bags on the table in front of him. Oswald stared at them, his eyes showing nothing but confusion. He looked up and met Amelia's sparkling eyes. He didn't quite know what to say. Had she...?

"You've been walking around in this torn suit forever. You have no money to buy a new one so I thought... Why not?" She patted the right bag once and took an unsure step backwards. "Sadly, I couldn't find any expensive suits." She frowned at her own words and placed her hands on her hips. It made her look adorable. "Besides, I probably couldn't afford one anyway." She shrugged. "So these are just some normal clothes."

Oswald still stared at the girl as if she had completely and utterly lost her mind. There was kindness, yes but then there was Amelia. "Uhm... Th- Thank you, Amelia but I really can't... You didn't have to..."

"But you have nothing." she immediately protested. "Everything you had is gone. I can't just... _not_ help you." Oswald was taken aback.

"I am lost for words. Thank you so very much. I hope to be able to give back all you've done for me someday." He stood up but quickly forgot why. He smoothed the folds of his dirty trousers, opening and closing his mouth, fishing for something else to say.

"No problem, Oswald." she said with a smile on her lips. It was then that he felt a pang of guilt in his chest. Something he thought he hadn't felt in years. This woman was helping him and he was lying right into her face. He could tell that she thought he was no danger, at all... That he was innocent to the core. Of course she did—he played his role well, after all.

She disappeared into the kitchen and the room was suddenly filled with nothing but this very annoying scent of guilt. She was just a girl. Just another person he used in his chess game. Just another poor soul that had stepped right into his trap. Just anoth—

"Would you like to have a cup of tea? Or coffee?" she called over her shoulder.

Oswald paused, tensing as an unfamiliar sense of warmth rushed through him—one that made him feel as if small, sweet sparks were gently tugging at every inch of his skin.

"Tea."

* * *

He should do it, he thought.

It was the fourth day and Amelia still let him live here. She still insisted that there was no other place he could go to and if one considered the made up story he told her and kept telling her... then that was very much the truth. Except it wasn't. Oswald had a home. There was mother. He had money. He could steal her car and go back to Gotham. It was time.

So yes, he _should_ do it. He should get rid of her, Oswald thought as he stared at the window of the living room, watching as the rain hammered against the glass. How was he supposed to get a better idea of how Gotham worked with Amelia looking over his shoulder? How was he supposed to create a plan if she was there, constantly waltzing into the living room with her big smile and her friendliness. She would surely ask questions if she saw what he was up to and he wasn't in the mood to explain why exactly all of this was brilliant and why it was his destiny to rule Gotham.

This needed to stop.

Today.

Today he'd do it.

He would put his hands around her neck and... Or should he just grab a kitchen knife? The thought made him somewhat uncofmortable and that was strange. There shouldn't be a problem with making her disappear... Making Amelia disappear with her soft skin, her deer-like eyes and that naive expression on her face.

Stupid... Stupid Amelia.

* * *

It was late and Amelia was upstairs in her bedroom. She was probably asleep since she had to work tomorrow. What was her job again? Had she ever told him? All they seemed to do was small talk. Oswald didn't reveal too much about himself. She had asked for his first name and for some reason he had actually told her his real one. It just burst out of him.

So to her he was Oswald Anderson. What an idiotic name.

Oswald slowly got up from the couch. He was now wearing casual, black trousers and a grey jumper; both things part of what had been in the bags of clothes for him. He looked so... normal. He didn't like it. He missed his suits and the feeling of being of importance whenever he wore them. He mutely made his way to the stairs, trying be as quiet as possible. Going up the stairs in a silent manner wasn't easy with a limp. He stopped and paused whenever he thought he was being too loud and listened.

When there was silence he continued his path, the absolute darkness around him not making anything better. He eventually stood in front of Amelia's room and he suddenly realized that he'd never been in there before. He was curious and a little nervous, holding the knife in his hand. He slowly let his arm rise to the door handle and wrapped his long, pale fingers around it.

Now or never...

Oswald opened the door in one swift movement and stormed inside. A high pitched noise of shock escaped his mouth as his foot hit a big, breathy ball of furr on the floor. Since when did she have a cat?! The little monster growled loudly and jumped at his already damaged leg.

Oswald let out a scream and stumbled as he lost his balance. Seconds later he fell.

Suddenly light flooded the room and Amelia stood in front of him, looking down at him with wide eyes. He could see her bare legs and they looked just as soft as the rest of her. She was wearing a very oversized shirt. He could see her panties from the angle he was in. They were pink.

"Oswald!"

Oh god.

Oswald stared up at the young woman, blinking, looking just as baffled as her. He then realized that he was sitting on the knife since it had slipped out of his hand. That much was good. She wouldn't be able to read his intentions right away, then. Perhaps he could still come up with a story and—but why would he do that? Why didn't he just kill her now? Why didn't he just stand up, take the knife and...

"Are you okay? What happened?" The worry in her voice made him lose the track of his thoughts. How could she ask if he was _okay?_ He just tried to come into her room! Why wasn't she mad at him?

The excuses already stormed out of Oswald's mouth like a waterfall.

"I didn't- I didn't know you were already asleep and I wanted to- I wanted to ask where you put the remote. I am so sorry... I- I forgot to knock." He stumbled over his own words like a fool.

Amelia looked at Oswald with an unreadable expression. She looked baffled, to be quite honest. She raised her brows a little and blinked. "No problem." She swiftly shook her head and there it was again, her smile—the one that practically said 'don't worry' on its own. She reached out to give him her hand in an attempt to help him up. Oswald panicked since the knife was still hidden behind his back. He managed to grab it without letting her attention catch his movements and burried it in the back pocket of his new trousers as he grabbed her hand in an unintentionally rough way.

The scenario reminded Oswald a lot of their first encounter and he absently remembered how she had offered him her hand at her doorstep a few days ago. He came to a shaky stand and unsurely ran his hand through his hair. He finally had the chance to look around her room. His gaze caught a big window, paintings with warm colours, a king sized bed with blue sheets and a shelf full of books. The furniture looked old in a very fasionable way.

"Didn't I put the remote on the couch?" Amelia mumbled to herself and put her hands on her hips. She did that often. Oswald had grown oddly fond of it.

"It actually doesn't matter that much. It's no bother, really. I'm sure I'll find—" He was cut off by the cat that wandered around his legs and pressed its head against them. He had almost forgotten about the filthy thing.

"You never told me you had a cat." he said and huffed with a smile as he looked at Amelia who was standing painfully close to him. "Oh, he's... He's actually a stray cat but I let him in sometimes." She bent down and Oswald instantly forced himself to look away.

She swooped up the big, orange cat and held it in her arms like a baby. "You little idiot." she said and squeezed the thing as its fur grazed her neckline which caused Oswald's eyes to travel down to... Well...

In that moment his brain gently seemed to shut itself off and he kept staring.

Most of the time it wasn't difficult for Oswald to keep his mind focussed so it was a very rare situation. Amelia let the cat hop away. Her arms fell to her sides and she remained still, not really moving from the spot. When Oswald realized what he was doing and that he was staring at her in this inappropriate way, his face grew hot and a redness rushed into his cheeks. He met her glare and clenched his fists, holding his breath. She looked so delicate. So soft. His brain had been on standby before but now it was working on overdrive. He felt nervous and exposed. Panic crossed his features.

But then there was that small, trembling movement that marked her lips and it came off as if she was trying to hide a grin. She looked at her feet and bit her lower lip. He suddenly began to have a rather funny feeling in his chest.

He could have killed her then and there.

The thing was that he didn't want to.


End file.
